The Beginning of the End
by Archaeologist
Summary: Destiny is a fickle thing. Arthur's fate is sealed when Mordred reappears. A speculation story. Will likely be AU when Merlin Series 5 starts.


**Warnings:** Spoilers for Series 5. Spoilers listed at the end of the story.  
**Notes:** 1) This story can be read just as a story. The spoilers are obvious only if you know they are spoilers. 2) Merlin was described as a boy for 3 series. I figured I could get away with calling a 17 year old a boy just because they did it in the show.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

At first, Arthur didn't see the boy lying there.

He was a little busy fending off bandits.

The shock of steel against his own, the stink of an unwashed body and with the outlaw grinning as he swung his mace toward him, Arthur had no time to think of anything but defending himself and trying not to get killed. He side-stepped, leaning just far enough away to escape the mace-head that would have splattered his brains all over the forest floor, then twisted back, avoiding a knife that had appeared as if by magic in the thug's other hand.

In the half-moment it took for the man to realize that the knife wasn't already deep inside Arthur's gut but cutting the air instead, Arthur raised his sword, slicing through bone and flesh and ending their fight.

But he didn't have time to enjoy it. As the brute screamed and toppled toward him, sprawling at Arthur's feet, he stepped back, avoiding the spray of blood and entrails - only to find another sword about to take his head off.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then in the blink of an eye, Arthur ducked, and as his foe's blade slipped past, a hair's-breath away from making him the late King Arthur, he kicked out, hitting the man squarely in his knee. There was a satisfying crunch. As his attacker stumbled back, howling, Arthur didn't waste a moment. His sword flashed in the light and then plunged into the bandit's chest, silencing him. The man collapsed, gurgling his last breath and lay there on top of the other outlaw, dead.

Ready for another attack, Arthur shifted, spun around to see what else needed to be done but the clearing was suddenly quiet. The knights were still standing, swords at the ready. Around them was a scatter of bodies.

The bandits had either died at their hands or else fled into the woods. The battle was over.

Arthur finally had a moment to breathe.

Beyond the line of trees, Merlin was already scrambling to his feet. He'd obviously been hiding under a bush, not the best hiding place but still better than in the thick of the fight. His idiot manservant wasn't that adept with a blade and Arthur didn't really blame him for staying out of the way. Merlin was brave enough and Arthur had counted on him more times than he'd like to admit but he knew he'd have to mock him later for it.

An accusation of cowering in the brambles was just too good an insult to be missed.

It would give both of them something to argue about. Besides, when they traded barbs, Merlin's scowl was often hilarious. Sometimes it was all he could do to keep from grinning at the faces the daffodil would make. Arthur's crown was heavy enough these days and Merlin's antics had been the only thing he took any pleasure in of late.

These were troubled times.

Arthur turned away, satisfied that Merlin hadn't gotten himself killed when Gwaine sauntered over. "So, Princess... bandits again. Do you send them a royal announcement ahead of time or are you just that lucky?"

Percival snickered but didn't say anything, just started turning over the bodies, gathering up the weapons. Steel wasn't cheap and since Arthur became king, he'd insisted that they collect them to be used later. New recruits for guards or potential knights, especially those of peasant stock, rarely had enough weaponry and Arthur would rather spend the money on defence or food supplies for his people than swords when bandits had perfectly good blades that they no longer needed.

When Arthur glared at Gwaine, the man just shrugged, gave him his most innocent, _'who-me?' _ look and started walking towards the horses, obviously intent on helping Elyan gather them up for the long ride back to Camelot.

By then, Merlin was right behind Arthur, started to say something when they all heard a soft groan. The others looked toward the sound, suddenly alert but Arthur gestured for them to relax. He'd handle this one.

Another whimper. Near the edge of the road, just beyond where they'd been ambushed, a pile of dirty wool, dusted with the brittle leaves of autumn, moved.

Arthur, sword at the ready, strode toward the noise, Merlin hard at his heel. It was possible it was another trap, one meant to spring once they'd let their guard down. But then bandits were rarely that intelligent.

Yet, it was possible. So it was with caution that Arthur used his sword point to lift the cloak up and away.

It was a boy, perhaps more than a boy, someone young enough but with the first growth of beard. No more than eighteen. He lay there, battered sword in a hand covered in blood, another wound seeping fresh at his temple. Brown curly hair and a bruise forming on one youthful cheek.

He didn't look like a bandit but one could never be sure. As Arthur bent down, and turned the boy over to see what other wounds he might have, behind him, Merlin drew in a sharp breath, seemed to mutter a name - Morden or Medre or Mord-something.

Then he said, harsh and worried, "My lord, leave him. He's… just, just leave him."

Gazing up at Merlin - the idiot usually had a heart as tender as a girl's, Arthur drew back surprised. This was not like him. "Merlin, it's clear that he's not a bandit. He needs our help."

"He could be a decoy. He…." Merlin was looking more distressed by the minute; even his fingers were clenched white, his hands gripping at his jacket as if cold.

Arthur might have put it down to nerves but Merlin had been right more than once so, much as he wanted to dismiss his concerns, he did think about it for a moment. Then glancing around, seeing nothing untoward, Arthur said, "If he were a decoy, the trap would already be springing shut. But there are no bandits rushing for us, are there?"

Merlin shook his head, mouth flattening in stubborn disapproval. But Arthur wasn't having any of it. Sometimes Merlin worried too much.

Finally, as the unconscious youth shifted under his hand, muttering in pain, he said, "If Gaius was here, he'd already be seeing to his wounds. As should you."

His idiot just glared at him, as if by doing so, he'd thought to change Arthur's mind. But when Arthur stood up, folded his arms across his chest, and stared at him with a look as immovable as stone, Merlin sighed, dramatically as only he could, and nodded. "Of course, my lord."

At least something must have gotten through because Merlin knelt down and began to examine the boy, and Arthur saw that his touch was gentle. It only took a few moments but as Elyan and Percival gathered around them, Gwaine holding the horses but near enough to listen, Merlin said, "No broken bones, a lot of bruises but I can't tell if there are any internal injuries. Depends on whether he'd been kicked or not. His left hand needs to be cleaned but at least his head has stopped bleeding." He stood up, wiping his hand across his face and smearing blood there. "There could be problems if he doesn't wake up soon, though. He might have a head injury but he's not going to die just yet."

"Good. We'll need to camp for the night. We're too far away from Camelot with him injured and he might get worse with travel." Looking around, he nodded toward the ridge. "If I remember correctly, there is shelter just over the next rise. Hopefully the bandits will have learned their lesson and moved on."

"Or they could be waiting for us there." Gwaine was looking a bit eager and when Arthur frowned at him, he shrugged. "What? Can't let Percy have all the fun."

Arthur could have made some scathing remark. Gwaine gathered trouble to himself on a daily basis but there were more important things than reminding the knight of his duties. "Percival and Elyan on point. Gwaine, since you are so keen for a bit of fun, you can take care of the horses. I'm sure they will all need rubdowns once we've settled for the night. Merlin is with me."

Gwaine scowled at that but Percival merely clapped him on the shoulder as he moved past; Elyan whispered something into Gwaine's ear that deepened the frown but Arthur ignored it all.

Kneeling down, Arthur picked up the boy and with a great heave, he rose, carefully slinging him over one shoulder. Merlin let out a protest but shut up as Arthur frowned at him. "If he has internal injuries, a horse won't help him either. Let's get him to shelter and deal with him there."

He could hear Merlin muttering under his breath, something about prats and stupidity and why he'd stayed on when maddening clotpoles insisted on trying his patience but Arthur ignored him.

Frustrated of late, hindered by protocol and damnable speeches and endless expectations, it felt good to finally _do_ something. Arthur knew that Percival was stronger and should have been the one to carry this wounded boy to their destination but sometimes he needed to prove to his men - and to Merlin and more importantly to himself that he could carry his own weight. To be more than just a hide-bound king.

But Merlin was being his typical girlish self, hands wringing in worry, grumbling. Hovering.

Arthur sent him another sharp glare, then started up toward the ridge, Merlin clattering loud in his wake.

Luckily the boy was still unconscious. It must have hurt like hell but he seemed to ease once they'd reached the tumbled ruin.

There was one wall still intact and part of a roof and it would shelter them from rain. The bandits had indeed been using the ruin at one point, if the pile of half-eaten meat and stinking refuse were any clue. But there was no one there now and luckily they hadn't fouled the tiny spring; there would be fresh water for cleaning wounds and making dinner. Once Merlin cleared out the area and lit a fire, it would be almost adequate.

Merlin seemed to accept the situation, thankfully. He cleaned the boy's wounds, and much that it pained Arthur to admit it, did a fine job of stitching up the gash on his hand. A job that would have made Gaius proud if Merlin would just stop grumbling.

Of course, Arthur wouldn't tell him that. It wouldn't do to have Merlin strutting around with a swelled head.

He also wouldn't tell Merlin that, after carrying the boy up the hill and shifting him onto the bedroll so that Merlin could work, the young one's ragged shirt had shifted slightly, just enough so that Arthur could see the druid mark on his skin.

No, he wouldn't tell him. That would only bring up questions about why Merlin hadn't said something straight away, why Merlin didn't think enough of him to trust that he would do the right thing. He'd promised to leave the druids in peace and he'd kept his word, much as it pained him to do so. But a helpless boy certainly wouldn't change that.

No, if Merlin thought he'd keep the boy from Arthur's wrath with that ridiculous excuse about decoys, it didn't work quite as he'd intended. Arthur was not angry with the young one. He was furious with Merlin.

But until the situation changed, there was nothing to be done. So, instead of yelling at his miscreant of a servant, he sat down next to the unconscious lad and began to sharpen his sword.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The boy woke sometime after dinner.

Merlin had just finished cleaning up and was sitting next to Arthur. His face shuttered and clearly unhappy, he kept glancing up at Arthur and then back to the boy. At times, he almost looked like he was about to say something but seemed to think better of it.

Finally, Arthur had had enough. "Out with it. Usually I can't get you to shut up - in many ways, you are worse than Gwaine." From the other side of the camp, there was a muffled protest from the knight, a snicker from Elyan. Ignoring them both, he said, "If you have something of import to say, say it."

Merlin leaned in closer, his voice soft enough for Arthur's ear alone; his tone was sharp with worry. "We don't know why he's here. He could be a spy, he could be…."

Disappointed that even now, Merlin wouldn't come clean, Arthur snapped back, "Thank you, Merlin, for that assessment. I can see quite clearly that he's a spy and about to kill us all in his sleep."

At that, Merlin shut up. But Arthur wasn't quite finished. "He could be an innocent beset by bandits. I don't know why you keep insisting that he's a danger to us…. unless you know something I don't?"

For a moment, Merlin looked vulnerable, almost hunted and as unsure as Arthur had ever seen him. It must have been a trick of the light, though, because a second later, his face tightening, he nodded toward the youth. "Arthur, I…."

With a groan, the boy grimaced, and blinking, opened his eyes. A blue gaze, unfocused for breathless seconds, drifting past Arthur to rest on Merlin's face. Arthur was already shifting forward to see what he could do to help when the youngster yelped and scampered backwards, only stopping when a low wall prevented his attempt to flee. He looked terrified.

"Get away from me!" The boy was raising his hands, ready to fend off whatever horrors he must have seen in Merlin's face; perhaps he thought they were going to kill him.

Arthur shoved his idiot manservant out of the way and approached him with empty hands and a soft voice. "It's okay, it's okay. You are safe now. Safe. We found you on the road. We aren't going to hurt you." Turning away, he muttered to Merlin, "Back away. He's afraid of you."

"He could be afraid of you, you know."

'Don't be ridiculous." Merlin sent Arthur a glare that would have melted stone in any other circumstance but Arthur needed to diffuse the situation, not cater to his servant's tender ego. "Go see to the horses."

"Gwaine did that already…."

Keeping his gaze squarely on the boy, Arthur said, "Now, Merlin."

There was another great huff and out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Merlin moving away, obeying him - although not quite taking care of the horses but hovering nearby.

Watching them both, the boy calmed a bit, growing less agitated the further Merlin retreated. Arthur squatted down, far enough back that he wouldn't feel boxed in. Keeping his voice gentle, he said, "We aren't going to hurt you. My manservant tended your wounds and we were just waiting for you to wake up to find out what happened. Are you hungry? We have stew. I must warn you though that it's not good stew. Merlin made it."

He smiled but there was no answering gesture, just wary blue eyes gazing up at him.

"You don't… thank you but I'm fine." But as the boy tried to get up, he winced, drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was clear he was still hurting.

"We have medications for the pain. It tastes pretty awful but it's effective. I can have my manservant make you up a tonic if you like."

"No!" Almost a shout, the youngster seemed to realize that wasn't the best way to answer and he said more softly, "No, thank you. I don't need anything."

As the boy leaned against the stone wall, curling a bit as he cradled his wounded arm against his chest, he kept looking past Arthur, past the firelight and towards the trees where Merlin lurked.

Of course, Merlin was lurking. Arthur had ordered him to do one thing and he'd ignored it and done whatever he damn well pleased. Including pushing the limits of Arthur's temper. How his servant could agree to a simple command and then pay no attention to his king's wishes was beyond him. That he'd withheld information didn't help Arthur's mood, either.

Raising his voice a little, he called out, "I assume the horses are still in need of your attention, _Mer_lin. Or I could find you some other, more noxious chore to do once we return to Camelot. I hear there's a cesspit in great need of attention in the lower town. Gaius is very eager to have it cleaned out."

He didn't need to turn around to see Merlin's scowl. But he could tell that it must have been fierce if the smirk on Gwaine's face was any clue.

His attention back on the boy, he said, "Rest, then, for a while. The bandages will need to be changed at least before you leave. Merlin may be a poor cook but he's a fair physician." Arthur leaned in. "Although don't tell him that."

No smile greeted Arthur's words, only a guarded reserve. Of course, Arthur didn't blame him but still, he wondered what had happened to make him so frightened.

"Can you tell me what went on back there?" Carefully shifting closer, trying not to alarm the boy any more than he already was, Arthur sat down on one of the stone blocks and waited a moment before he said, "As far as we know, most of the bandits have been killed but are any more of them? Any information will do. The size of the group, any characteristics that we could use to track them down. They are a danger that must be dealt with."

Blue eyes shifting away, looking first at Merlin and then back to Arthur, he shook his head. "I… I don't know much. They attacked me on the road, must have been six or seven of them. Some had horses but they seemed more set on tormenting me than anything I might carry in coin."

Arthur nodded at that. It was not unexpected. Those kinds of men had no honour.

Waiting a moment, watching him carefully, Arthur said, "Is that because you are a druid?"

Behind him, he could hear Merlin take in a sharp breath and the knights were murmuring among themselves, but it was the boy who sounded horrified, babbling, almost incoherent as he struggled to get to his feet.

"What? No, I… I'm not a druid. It's forbidden."

"No longer. We've had a truce with the druids for three years." Arthur rose with him, hands still empty, trying to placate him before he ran or collapsed in sheer terror. "We've lived in peace with them… for three years."

Something must have gotten through because the boy slumped against the stonework, blinking rapidly at Arthur. "What?"

"Three years. All Druids are allowed to practice their religion in Camelot as long as it doesn't include magic." The young one was pale as a shroud and swaying but Arthur didn't think it would be wise to step any closer just yet. Who knew what the boy might do. "Is that how long you've been away?"

"Three years?" Frowning, looking as if he were trying to come to grips with the news and failing, his voice ragged, he said, "They can stay in Camelot? They aren't hunted down and killed?"

"As long as magic is not involved, they are free to come and go as is any other citizen of the kingdom."

For a moment, the boy just stood there, growing paler with every breath and then slowly he slid down, as if his legs could no longer support him. "Free?"

"As long as there is no magic used, yes." Sitting down again, a little closer this time, enough to show support without intimidation, Arthur said, "But I must warn you that the practice of magic is forbidden on pain of death. The law is very clear on that."

"That's… I don't…. Magic is evil. It only brings suffering and madness." Then for some odd reason, rather than facing Arthur, the boy frowned out into the darkness, looking straight at Merlin, his gaze dark, intense, almost unforgiving. He said flatly, "And those who practice it deserve what they get."

A very odd thing to say, especially considering the circumstances. In the few dealings with them, Arthur had found druids to be serene, so placid that he thought them a little boring, if truth be told. But never this mixture of finality and disgust.

For a moment he didn't know what to say. Instead he followed the boy's gaze to find Merlin standing there staring back, face as shuttered as he'd ever seen. Usually the man was so transparent that he didn't even have to speak for Arthur to know what he was thinking - and then Merlin would open his mouth and tell him anyway.

Now, Merlin stood there, stone-still, dark eyes gleaming in the firelight, waiting for something. As closed and opaque as granite.

Arthur didn't understand any of it but he'd ask Merlin later. Hell, he had a lot of questions that Merlin had better answer later. But for now, he turned back to the boy.

"Usually druids are more accepting of magic, even if they don't use it. What happened?"

Long seconds passed, and then the youngster shook himself and turned back to Arthur. "I'm not a druid, not any more. My clan…." He swallowed hard, huddling into himself, his uninjured hand scrubbing across his face. When he looked up again, there were tear tracks on his cheeks. But his voice was full of fury.

"_She_ promised my clan such things. I believed her, how could I not when she'd saved me, took care of me when I was so lost and alone. But my clan… they wouldn't listen. They wouldn't. And when they said no, she killed them all." A breath, harsh and heavy and then he snarled out, "I thought she'd be different. She'd saved my life once and I thought… that black-hearted witch killed them all."

Arthur's heart seemed to stop, his whole body aching with sudden ferocity. It couldn't be. It couldn't be her. There were other women, other witches hell-bent on destruction. And yet the possibility of it made him lunge forward, grab onto the boy, hands digging into his arm, shaking him. "What woman? Describe her!"

Trying to pull away, voice rising in fear, he said, "My lord, you know her. She's… she's the Lady Morgana."

The first news they'd had of her in months and this boy was the key. The enormity of it made Arthur rough. His hands tightened. "Where is she?"

The boy's face was twisting in pain and he started to struggle more frantically. "You are hurting me. Please…."

Behind him was a babble of men shouting at him, but it was Merlin's hands and Merlin's voice that got through. "Arthur, don't. You'll hurt him. Don't!"

A final tug on Arthur's arm and he let the boy go. Drawing back, taking a deep breath and letting out all the anger and desperation that Morgana's name could evoke in him, he said, "I apologize for hurting you. It wasn't my intent. It's just that we've been looking for her for some time and if you have information about where she is, I need to know."

Rubbing at the bruises Arthur had likely left on his arms, the youngster was pale, his eyes huge in the firelight.

But he seemed to calm when the knights retreated to the other side of the camp and although Merlin was still hovering just behind Arthur, being an utter nuisance in the way he was focused on the situation, it didn't appear to be a problem for the boy.

Arthur leaned back, deliberately relaxing so that the young one could see once again that he was safe. "I need to know where she is. She's killed before. She's attacked Camelot twice now and each time left dead in her wake. If you know where to find her, I would be forever in your debt."

"It was more than a year ago. The camp was near the seas of Meridor but she… she's long gone." He looked down at his bandaged hand, then back up at Arthur. "I've been on my own ever since."

"Gone?" The disappointment was sharp. He'd hoped to find her and keep her from hurting anyone else ever again.

"Yes, my lord. She was crazy, kept hurting people before they… died. Even the children. Everyone." Caught up in memories, blue eyes unfocused, his voice was full of misery as he said, "I keep remembering how nice she was, how caring. She was willing to give up everything for me and yet… the magic must have driven her mad." His face hardened, and he turned away, staring unblinking at Merlin. "You are right to kill them, sire, the magical ones. They bring only death with them."

Odd how he kept watching Merlin when he talked of destroying those of magic. Perhaps he couldn't bear to face Arthur when he spoke of druidic things knowing that his life was in Arthur's hands.

But he needed more information. Surely the boy must know something else that could help him find her. "You keep saying that you knew her. How?"

"Don't you recognize me? I thought you… you rescued me, sire, long ago." He cringed, then gave Arthur an unsteady smile, a mixture of hope and terror. "I'm Mordred."

The Druid boy he'd rescued so long ago, the one he'd defied his father for, the one Morgana had begged him to free. No wonder he'd been so afraid of him. He must have known of the Druid encampments Arthur had destroyed, the burnt sorcerers in the square, the murders of innocents all in the name of Uther Pendragon.

When Arthur said nothing, still remembering his part in that annihilation, Mordred shied away. "You won't… kill me? Please, I'm not… I don't practice magic. I don't. It's a sickness and I don't want any part of it."

"You are safe with me. I don't hurt you."

It was satisfying to see Mordred's face finally slide into relief. As the boy leaned back, relaxing, looking far younger than he had a moment ago, Arthur said, "I've had more than my share of magic's destruction. It took my mother, my father, turned Morgana against me. Magic brings ruin to anyone touched by it. You are right to fear it, Mordred."

"I do. She taught me that magic is pure evil." Staring at Merlin for a moment, eyes hard as stone, then turning to Arthur, he said, "So there are no sorcerers in Camelot?"

The antipathy toward his servant was beginning to become worrisome. After all, Merlin had helped Mordred escape all those years ago and cared for him while he'd been hiding in the palace just as Morgana had - although perhaps the boy's memory was tainted by that. Perhaps he was afraid that Merlin was like Morgana, ridiculous as that thought might be.

A trusted member of his entourage, Merlin was just as much opposed to magic as Arthur was. If necessary, he'd remind the boy of that fact but not now, not when Mordred was so brittle with pain and scarred memories.

For now, he just wanted to reassure the boy that he was safe. "No, no sorcerers in Camelot. They've fled, knowing that to practice magic there is a death sentence. Other realms might welcome them but not in my kingdom."

"That's a relief." Sending him another shy smile, Mordred hesitated, then seeming to shake himself free of whatever he'd been thinking, said softly, "I'm… I've heard that you, that your father died and you are king now. And I heard that…."

If Arthur didn't know better, he'd think that the boy wanted something else, not just to get away and heal but something more from him. Something he was too embarrassed to ask for straight away.

"What did you hear, young one?" Arthur said gently.

Squirming a little, then squaring his shoulders, lifting his chin, looking at Arthur, obviously determined to speak no matter what the consequences, Mordred said, "That you accept those not of noble birth as knights. That if a person is good enough and able enough, they can win a place at Camelot."

Whatever Arthur thought the boy would ask, it was not that. For a moment, he didn't say anything, too astonished to speak.

Behind him, of course, astonishment was not enough for Merlin to keep silent. "No, Arthur, you can't. He'll…."

"Shut up, Merlin. You have no say in this." His manservant sent him a glare that would have felled lesser men but Arthur didn't care. He'd had enough of his interference and the lies or rather the absence of truth still infuriated him.

He turned back to Mordred. "You are too young."

The smile the boy sent him was blinding. Obviously he'd been expected a flat refusal. "I'm nearly eighteen, my lord, and I've been practicing." At Arthur's disbelieving look, Mordred just straightened further, waving his injuring hand around as if demonstrating his skills. "Before the bandits knocked me out, I got two of them. And I'm good with a sword. I know I can do better."

It was almost too much. The boy was clearly excited about it, a sharp change from the cringing youngster of a few moments ago. "Mordred…."

At Arthur's tone, Mordred's face fell. "Please, my lord. I have nowhere else to go and I'll try so hard to be the best knight you'll ever have. Just give me a chance."

Letting out a long sigh, Arthur said, "Have you any experience in the field? Or as a sell-sword?"

"No but I'm eager to learn. Just, I need... I've been alone so long."

Those eyes were pleading for a chance and Arthur could see how important it was to the boy. But he also had a duty to his people. The knights of Camelot were the best in the five kingdoms and he couldn't take just anyone in, not without a long and thorough examination of his skills.

"Mordred, I can't just make you a knight. It isn't fair to those who have put in years of training."

"I understand, my lord. I…."

His words seemed to deflate the boy. It was painful to watch, the death of dreams and Arthur could understand that, the longing, the hopes that his father, that someone would recognize his worth and never getting that recognition.

But there was another way for someone to become a knight, not just through deeds on the battlefield or birth into a noble house.

"But…." At that, the boy looked back up, growing hope in his eyes. "I am in need of a squire. Someone to help me with tournaments and training, take care of my armour, someone who would watch my back and help me with the knights. Someone to teach." Behind him, Merlin was protesting, muttering almost into Arthur's ear at how dangerous this was and they didn't know anything about the boy but he shoved the protests aside, brushing away any concerns his idiot manservant had.

Instead, he gazed at Mordred and said, "I think you could be that person. If you wish it."

He'd never seen anyone so happy. The boy struggled to his feet, then collapsed onto his knees before Arthur, taking his hand and putting it to his forehead in a gesture of fealty.

"Yes, oh thank you so much, sire, thank you. I will be the best squire that ever was seen in Camelot. And I will give my life up for yours if needs be. Without question or hesitation." Looking up, he said, "Thank you."

Arthur just brushed across the boy's hair, the softness of it under his hand for the first time and then gripped his shoulder. He was feeling the beginnings of brotherly affection for Mordred, something he'd missed in the long years as an only son. It would be good for them both; the boy would have something to believe in again and Arthur new purpose beyond the stuffy halls of kingship. "Your first task is to heal. And training will be difficult beyond anything you've tried before but I think you might be up to the challenge."

"I will, my lord. I am." The excitement must have drained some of his reserves because Mordred's eyes were already drooping.

"Good. My command for you now is to sleep. In the morning, we will talk of expectations."

And with another brilliant grin and a half-decent bow, Mordred shuffled back to his bedroll, laid his head upon the bedroll and was asleep almost immediately. The innocence of happy youth on his face.

Merlin kept looking down at the boy. Even in the firelight, Arthur could see Merlin's face, unguarded, a mixture of fear, loathing and a kind of shame painted there but as Merlin gazed up again at Arthur, there was only defeat in his eyes. "Arthur?"

"Come with me." Voice stone-hard, Arthur didn't even look to see if he were following, only turned into the woods and away from his knights' curious attention.

Down the ridge and far enough that no one else could hear, Arthur turned on him, said sharply, "You knew who he was from the very beginning and didn't tell me, just let me go on and on, making a fool of myself."

"That wasn't what…." Merlin seemed as upset as Arthur but he wasn't having any of it. Merlin lied to him, by withholding information but still, he had trusted Merlin to tell him the truth and his trust had been fouled by deceit.

"Oh, wasn't it? You made up some ridiculous story about decoys and danger to get me away from him."

Merlin bristled at that. "It wasn't ridiculous."

That only made Arthur more furious. That Merlin would have so little trust in him to do the right thing was appalling. "Did you think I'd kill him? Because he was a druid? Because if you think that, you don't know me at all. I'd given my word to the druids and have kept it for three years, Merlin. Three years."

"No, that's not… okay, it was ridiculous but I thought everyone would be safer that way." Merlin was just babbling nonsense and digging further into trouble.

"Safer? You don't trust me, is that it?"

"No!" Merlin stepped closer, looking everywhere but Arthur, his eyes shifting here and there, clearly trying to find a way to explain it in such a way that it wouldn't get him into trouble. He looked guilty as hell. "He's… he's dangerous."

Merlin could be so infuriating at times with his slovenly appearance and endless absurd stories, never mind about the amount of time he spent in the tavern but this was too much. Telling lies about an injured boy only made Arthur's anger turn perilously cold. He said sharply, "That boy?" How?"

"He's…."

Opening and closing his mouth, his hands clenched at his side, it was clear that Merlin was upset but as Arthur waited for an answer for a long, long moment, there was only silence.

"So you don't have any excuse at all." As Merlin started to protest again, Arthur grabbed onto his shirt and pulled him closer, close enough that there would be no mistake about just how furious Arthur was. "I don't know what is wrong with you sometimes. But stay away from Mordred. I saw the way he fears you and you weren't helping with that sour face of yours."

With that, he shoved him away, watched as Merlin stumbled back, hands flailing in the dark. Even in the dim light, Merlin's eyes were full of loss.

But that didn't matter. He'd been lied to - again and by someone he trusted with his life and more.

As Arthur turned, starting to walk toward the firelight and the warm camaraderie of his fellow knights, he said flatly, "Merlin, don't ever lie to me again."

He didn't look back.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It was only years later that Arthur realized why Merlin looked so defeated that day.

But by then it was far too late.

The end

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Spoilers for Series 5

1. A fan saw Arthur carrying Mordred over his shoulder into the woods. Mordred was wearing chainmail but I chose not to use it here.  
2. I saw Arthur treating Mordred like a little brother at Pierrefonds, ruffling his hair, hugging him, training him in sword-fighting and ignoring Merlin as he did so.  
3. One of the producers said that Mordred wasn't a knight.


End file.
